


Days 21-23: Nightmare. Hiding. Bleeding out.

by tbazzsnow (Artescapri)



Series: Whumptober 2019 [10]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Bleeding Out, Dreams, Hiding, M/M, Nightime in their room at Mummers, Nightmare, Shared Dreams, Whumptober 2019, depictions of violence in dreams, dreams of character death, mentions of blood in dream sequence, more like nightmares, warnings for blood, warnings for fatal injury, warnings for implied character death, warnings for violence in nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 14:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21447862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artescapri/pseuds/tbazzsnow
Summary: Baz and Simon's dreams reveal far more than they realize and are far more similar and more upsetting than either of them care to admit. A night in Mummers and nightmares they never want to come to life. Lots of hurt. Very little comfort.Whumptober prompts for: Nightmares, hiding, bleeding out.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Whumptober 2019 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1541554
Comments: 7
Kudos: 68





	Days 21-23: Nightmare. Hiding. Bleeding out.

# Whumptober Day 21, 22, 23

I used prompts from the alternate list for two of these as my were worseger story for [Day 3: Delirium](https://carryonsimoncarryonbaz.tumblr.com/post/188122639113/whumptober-day-3) is too similar to laced drink/hallucination. This is a bit angsty, as it should be for a whumptober. (Warnings for blood, injury, implied character death)

Day 21:** Nightmare** (from alternate list)

Day 22: **Hiding **(from alternate list)

Day 23: **Bleeding out**

* * *

**Simon**

_The Wavering Wood is on fire. _

_There is a cloud of smoke rising over the ramparts. The gate is open, and I can see the yew trees light up from here. _

_The dragon is still circling overhead, blasting huge jets of flame on Mummer’s, the Cloisters, the Weeping Tower. _

_I can’t stop any of it. _

_I didn’t think the Old Families would resort to this. I didn’t think they’d actually bring a fucking dragon to do their dirty work. _

_I can see the Mage across the courtyard. He’s going head to head with Baz’s screaming banshee of an aunt, casting spell after spell. They don’t seem to be doing her any harm and she’s blasting him back with spells I’ve never heard of—what does **“bigmouth strikes again” **even do? _

_Oh._

_The Mage spits out a few teeth. _

_I should go help him. _

_I should stand by his side and fight. _

_But Baz is striding across the flagstones towards me, wand out. _

_I adjust my grip on my sword. I knew it would come to this. That someday we would stand across from each other, the world going down in flames around us, to finally have it out. Once and for all. _

_Simon against Baz. Baz versus Simon. _

_It was always destined to end this way. _

_Fuck. I’ve dreaded this._

_I don’t want to do this._

_I don’t have a choice. I’ve never had a choice._

_My sword is up. Baz is close enough that I can see his fangs._

_I’ve never seen his fangs before. _

_I was right. All these years I was right._

_I don’t want to be right._

_I don’t want to do this. _

_His wand is pointed in my direction, but he’s not saying anything. He’s just staring at me, grey eyes wide, no sneer, no raised eyebrow. _

_This isn’t how I imagined it. _

_He’ll cast when I run at him. He’ll cast before my sword strikes. _

_My sword is no match against a mage like Baz. _

_He doesn’t move and my sword hits flesh. Bottoms out as the hilt jolts against his ribs. _

_He’s still holding his wand._

_His lips move. But it’s not a spell. It’s just a whisper._

_“Simon.”_

_My sword is all that’s holding him up. He’s sagging, knees buckling, eyes still wide, blood staining his white shirt. _

_Baz’s blood. _

_“I always knew it would end in flames.” It’s barely a whisper from him now. _

_I’ve got my arm around his waist, I’m lowering him to the ground, my sword still buried in his chest. _

_I’m scared to take it out. I’m scared to leave it in. There’s blood all over his shirt. It’s running over my hand as I grip the hilt. _

_There’s so much blood. _

_I didn’t think vampires had this much blood. _

_It wasn’t supposed to end like this._

_He was supposed to fight me._

_Baz always fights me._

_His hand covers mine on the hilt of my sword instead. _

_“Baz.” I’m gripping his shirt, pulling him close. “Baz, come on. Cast something. Cast something.”_

_His eyes close. _

_Fuck._

_You can’t cast healing spells on yourself. I should know this. I do know this_.   
  
_Fuck_.

_“**Get well soon. Right as rain. Ship shape.” **I’m throwing every healing spell I can think of at him. _

_Nothing’s happening. The blood is still flowing over our hands. _

_I don’t have my wand. _

_I don’t need my wand to cast, not when I really want something._

** _“Good as new!” _ ** _I’m shouting now. _

_Baz’s grip grows slack, his fingers slipping off mine, his hand dropping heavily against the ground. _

_His head sags back. I’m all that’s holding him up, I’ve got him cradled in both of my arms now. _

_My face is wet. I think I’m crying. There are tears dripping onto Baz’s shirt. They swirl into the blood._

_“Baz. Baz, please.” _

_I never meant for this to happen. _

_I never wanted it to be this way._

_“Baz!”_

I’m sitting up, covers tangled around my waist, trying to catch my breath. The room is dark.

My room.

Our room.

Oh, thank fuck. It was only a dream. A fucking dream.

A fucking nightmare.

I’ve got my head in my hands, fingers pulling at my hair. Fucking hell.

They’re getting worse.   
  
The nightmares.

I’ve killed Baz time after time in my dreams. It’s worse every time.

I don’t want this.

I don’t know how to stop it.

**Baz**

I heard Snow shout out my name just now. I could tell he was dreaming, thrashing around in his bed, the smoky scent of his magic thick in the air.

Not dreaming. Having a nightmare.

He’s been having them almost every night.

I wanted to wake him. Make whatever was hurting him stop.

I wanted him to rest.

I could have reached out, smoothed the hair back off his forehead. Whispered a **_“sweet dreams” _**at him. Or a **_“sleep like a baby.”_**

But I didn’t. I never do.

I want to.

I don’t dare.

Instead I hide under my mound of blankets, close my eyes and ears to the sound of his distress. Will myself to stay strong.

I’m tired of being strong.

I’m tired of always _resisting._

I can’t sleep. Not with Snow’s magic swirling around the room, the tang of it on my tongue, the scent of it overwhelming me.

That’s not the only reason, of course. My dreams don’t give me a respite either.

_I’m in the nursery, watching blue flames leap from my mother’s hands, feeling the sharp sting of fangs sinking into my neck. _

_I’m back in that coffin, confined and desperate, uselessly shouting into the dark oppressiveness of it. _

_I’m facing off with Snow, smoke and flames surrounding us on all sides, wand out, watching the firelight glimmering along the edge of his blade._

_I’m falling back, Snow’s blade impaled in my chest, blood pouring down over my shirt, the hilt, his hand. He’s cradling my head, leaning down, staring into my eyes. I could kiss him, if I just tilted my head up a little. _

I can see him, sitting up in his bed, bare chest milky-white in the moonlight, the hair he’s gripping so tightly tipped with silver now instead of bronze. He could be carved from Parian marble—a Greek statue of a god, a hero—the planes of his muscles smooth and defined, the set of his jaw as rigid as stone.

I should say something.

I should do something.

I close my eyes and turn away.


End file.
